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“What the Hell are you giggling about over there?” Bobby demanded, finally tiring of Crowley’s guffaws interrupting his research.
“Oh, Robert, you have got to see this!”
Sighing, Bobby got up to see what all the fuss was about. He’d never get any work done, otherwise. Crowley’s face was red and there were tear marks running down his cheeks from vigorous bouts of laughter. The demon grinned, watching the hunter’s face as he rounded the table and took his first glance at the computer screen.
It took a few moments until the realisation of what exactly he was looking at sunk in. It was a drawing. A drawing of Crowley and Bobby. A drawing of Crowley and Bobby engaged in activities that were certainly not appropriate for public eyes.
“What the fuckin’ Hell is that!?” Bobby spun away from the sight, eyes wide, the beginning of a blush forming on his cheeks.
“That, love, is us.”
“I know who it is, Crowley,” Bobby growled through gritted teeth, “What I want to know is why someone drew that and why it’s on the Internet!”
“Seems quite popular,” Crowley commented as though it was the weather they were discussing, “Not quite as popular as Destiel, of course, but still… I think it’s quite good, to be honest. They’ve really captured your inner grump.”
“Desti-what? What are you talking about? And what’s it got to do with- with that!?”
Crowley sighed dramatically, casting a bemused look at Bobby, “Does the name Chuck Shurley ring any bells?”
“He’s that- oh. It’s got something to do with those damned books, ain’t it?”
“What you saw was some artwork by a fan who ships ‘Crobby’,” Crowley smirked, “That’s us, if you can’t tell. Crowley plus Bobby: Crobby.”
Bobby groaned, shaking his head and refusing to look at either the computer or Crowley.
“I don’t know why you’re so upset, darling. It’s not like we haven’t tried some of those positions.” Crowley found the whole thing funny, of course, and the fact that Bobby was embarrassed by the situation made it even funnier.
“That’s not the point, an’ you damn well know it.”
Oh well, time for damage control. Crowley closed down the browser and stood, wrapping his arms around the hunter’s waist.
“Now, love,” Crowley cooed, “Remember, those people are under the impression that we’re fictional characters; a couple of creations cooked up in one of Shurley’s drunken stupors.” He stood on tiptoes to nibble on Bobby’s earlobe before whispering, “And you're not fooling me, Singer; it was in your bookmarks where I found that lovely blog.”